The Many Faces in the Mirror
by Felicie Senta
Summary: Narrator, Tyler, Marla, and a newcomer named Natalee Jacks's all become ensnared in each other and who knows the ending when they don't remember who they really are?
1. Chapter One: Marla Singer: Never Home

**A/N: I don't own Fight Club, Marla Singer, Tyler, or Narrator. I do own Natalee Jacks. **

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__Chapter One: Marla Singer: Never Home_

_Not here._

_-Tyler_

Marla Singer sighed, white smoke curling from her lips. Two simple words and a name; that's all he left her with. No tender goodbye, no loving words, nothing. Empty white lines. And his name; the 'y' curling delicately, the 'r' a quick scribble.

"Fuck you, Tyler." she hissed, throwing the paper in the air and stomping down the steps in three-inch heels. She had tried. No matter what her lazy eyes or thin mouth said, she had tried to love Tyler. But you can't love Tyler without being hurt.

Marla mashed her cigarette on an ashtray, studying the gray ash that fell like dead snow. Her apartment was empty like always; no friends, no one to knock on your door.

_You're not lonely,_ she said to herself, _You'll get over it._

And she was right. She always was.

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**Just a fun little thing I started today. Please review.**

**Love,**

**Fel**


	2. Chapter Two: Tyler: Bite Me

_Chapter Two: Tyler: Bite Me_

"I don't really care what you think." Tyler growled, tugging his shades down, glaring at the Narrator with bloodshot eyes, "What the fuck are you gonna do about it?"

He shrugged and crossed his arms, "Tyler, I don't like the idea."

"Didn't you hear me the first time, idiot? I don't care what you got to say. I'm doing it and you can't stop me." Tyler smiled, "Embrace it, my friend."

The pair lumbered into the car and Tyler turned the key, slowly, so it whined soothingly in the Narrator's ears. He stomped down on the pedal and bursts of summer air greeted his face.

The red light beamed in front of them, a sun in the fog.

"You're gonna hit that truck! Fucking slow down!" The Narrator looked pathetic, digging his fresh cut nails into the dashboard.

Tyler grinned, revealing his white teeth, "Bite me."

Their black car missed the loading truck by scant inches and they slid to a stop in front of a bar.

"Get out. Time to be a man."

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**Whoop! Chapter Two! Review!**

**Love,**

**Fel**


	3. Chapter 3: The Narrator: Always Fighting

_Chapter Three: The Narrator(First Person): Always Fighting_

If Fight Club was a religion, Tyler was God.

The members' eyes followed him, ravenous, hungry for a fight. Tyler moved, weaving between them, challenging them.

I met a few of their eyes; An assistant at my building, a grocer, a banker. I knew them in the real world, but here, here, I knew nothing. Here we were what we were born as; animals. We were the sweat on the brow, the pain in our faces, the scars on our body. Here we were us, not what the world made us, but the people we wanted to be.

I shivered in excitement.

"Who dares go first?" Tyler asked, grinning in the shadows. His hands gripped two metal bars, the knuckles white.

"I'm new." shouted a stout man with a balding head. He lifted his shirt off his head, throwing it into a bundle on the floor, "I'm ready, sir."

"Now, you're opponent." Tyler looked around, casually looking at me and then turning to the rest of the group.

"Come on, I see new faces. One of you, out now."

A younger-looking man stepped forward, something oddly bouncy about his walk. He reminded me of Bob. Almost. His chest puckered in the front, as if fat was just beneath it. But the rest of his body was small, almost lithe.

He answered in a gruff voice, "Me."

The fight commenced. A few ducks, a few swings, and then a tackle. The young one had grabbed the waist of the bald one and brought him down. Young kneed Bald in the stomach, easily controlling his opponent. The blood flecked both of their faces, but it was in their eyes too. Their eyes met and Bald screamed something but it wasn't a tap-out. Young placed his knees beside Bald's neck and began punching his face. _Crack_. A nose broken. Blood poured beneath the head. With one last once of strength, Bald flipped Young over and smashed his head into the concrete floor. Young stilled. Bald, bug-eyed, jumped up woozily and began mopping his face and head clean.

I kneeled next to Young and checked his pulse. Faint. "He's unconscious."

Tyler stared at him and me for a long time, "Oh, fuck."

"What?" I answered, tilting my head.

Tyler joined me and pulled up Young's shirt.

"Oh, fuck."

Young was a girl.

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**SHOCKER! LOL. Wait to see what happens next chapter. Longer see?**

**Love,**

**Fel**


	4. Chapter Four:Natalee Jacks: Walking Home

_Chapter Four: Natalee Jacks: Walking Home_

"Oh, fuck."

There was no joy of waking up to those two words. Natalee knew them all too well. The_ 'oh'_ of surprise from her mother before her father beat her bloody, muttering '_fuck'_ the whole time. Natalee knew those words _very well._

She stirred, droplets of blood dripping down her forehead. She stared up at a handsome enough man, but his whole face was blurred by tears. She had failed. She had lost. She tried so hard to be beat a man, but she failed. Naked, discovered, and beaten.

"Are. . . you. . . Tyler?" Natalee breathed the words, so soft, so out of breath.

"I am." A man next to him spoke, his amazing good looks beaming down at her, "Bravo, little shithead."

Natalee rose to her knees, her fists pressed against the floor, "Thanks, asshole."

Tyler barked a bit of laughter, "Get up; you're coming home with us."

Narrator shook his head, "No way."

Tyler sighed, "Come on, little shithead, let's go."

Natalee stood on wobbly ankles, her knees knocking together, her legs shaking. Narrator pulled an arm under her and helped her.

"I can _walk._" she muttered, but she was numb and leaden, so she leaned against him all the same.

The three arrived at the house and Narrator helped Natalee into a bed.

"Tyler! Whose bed should she use; mine or yours?"

"Mine."

Narrator looked worried and something like affection entered his gaze as he glanced at Natalee, "Be careful, kid."

Natalee's eyes drifted shut and glued together. She was exhausted, weak and fragile. But her ears were awake, alert, listening.

"What are we gonna do with her, Tyler?"

"Nothing," She could hear the smile in his voice, "I like her."

"What type of like are we talking about here?"

"I wanna fuck her real bad."

"She seems like a good kid; she can't be older than twenty!"

"I don't give a shit. She's my type of girl."

"I thought Marla was."

"Oh, that whore? Nah, she's your type, buddy."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"She's clingy and you're pathetic."

"Goodnight, Tyler."

"Goodnight, mother fucker."

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**If you seen the movie, this part makes absolutely no sense. But, don't worry, I'll explain it in later chapters.**

**Love,**

**Fel!**


	5. Chapter 5:Marla:Hate In ThreeInch Heels

_Chapter Five: Marla: Hate in Three-Inch Heels_

Marla stomped up the steps of the old house once again in the same three-inch heels. Her clothes rarely changed. A waste of money.

She kicked the door five times, succeeding in making a golf ball-sized hole. Narrator opened the door in his boxers and white shirt.

"Would you fucking mind explaining why you didn't leave an explanation?"

"Sorry, we left on a whi—."

"Who's at the door?" A pretty, gray-eyed girl leaned against the stairway frame.

"WHO THE HELL IS THIS?" Marla didn't mean to, but jealousy made her angry and she screamed the words.

"I'm Natalee Jacks." She stepped into more light, revealing a slim figure with huge breasts threatening to pop over her shirt.

"Marla Singer." Marla spat the words, shoving her way in. Narrator walked backwards, slowly, towards the living room where she heard him talking.

"Um, take a seat, Marla." Natalee pulled out a chair for her and the black-haired woman.

"I'm here to see Tyler."

"He's around her somewhere. . ."

"Did he fuck you?"

"Um, no."

"Yeah, well, he will and then he'll discard you. Enjoy it while you can, bitch." Marla grabbed two plates off the counter and threw them at the wall, shattering them into a dizzying storm of white ceramic. She picked up a pot and chucked the chunk of metal through the kitchen window.

"Tell that asshole when he gets back here that I hate him and if he ever tries to talk to me again, I'll cut off his balls and feed them to the ducks." Marla hissed in rage, blooms of red appearing on her deathly pale face.

"Stop destroying the kitchen!" Natalee jumped up and encircled Marla's bony, thin wrist. Marla reared her other hand and slapped the younger girl's startled face.

"Dammit!" Natalee pulled a handful of Marla's hair out from her scalp and kicked out her legs. Scrambling up, Marla dug her heel into Natalee's open toes. She screamed in pain and shoved Marla into the door.

"Get out now, bitch!"

Narrator, at the sound of the screaming, ran in and pulled screaming Natalee from kicking Marla.

"Marla, go!"

For a second, hurt colored her face and then the door slammed shut. Natalee wrenched herself from Narrator's arms.

"How's that for a fight? Three-inch heels against bare feet." muttered the girl before storming up the steps.

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**This is my least favorite chapter so far. Marla and Natalee finally meet!**

**Love,**

**Fel!**


	6. Chapter Six: Tyler: Why?

_Chapter Six: Tyler: Why?_

Why did he take that little shithead in?

Because she's clever, like him, Tyler. Never before had a woman gotten into a Fight Club meeting nor had she fought if she did. Natalee's got guts and for Tyler, that counted for something.

Tyler stuffed his hands into the front of his bathrobe, pondering the lissome young girl that made their dysfunctional, little "family" three people.

She was fucking. . . perfect when Tyler came to end of his thoughts. But he couldn't have her.

"I don't know what to do!" he growled, pounding his fists on the table.

"Oh, is Tyler losing his touch?" grinned Narrator, leaning against a door frame, "Not knowing what to do?"

"Shut the fuck up." Tyler raised an eyebrow coldly, "I don't know what to do with the little shithead girl now living in our house."

"What are we going to do?"

"Whatever we want."

"You care about her, don't you?"

"Hell no. I'll prove it."

Tyler ran up the steps and into his rooms where Natalee was pulling on a pair of his old boxers. He grabbed her and shoved her up against the wall, her head thumping against the plaster.

"Hello, bitch." He smiled, squeezing his hand around her throat. Her gray eyes narrowed and she made a choking noise.

"Tyler! You made your point!" Narrator rushed forward and pulled Tyler off Natalee.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Tyler?" Natalee screamed, retreating to the corner of the room with scared eyes.

"Everything; every goddamn little thing."

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**Sorry for the short chapter. Couldn't have Tyler being soft now, could we?**

**Love,**

**Fel**


	7. Chapter Seven: The Narrator: Wrong

_Chapter Seven: Narrator (First Person): Wrong_

What the fuck is wrong with us?

People are so messed up. Tyler and his mood swings like a PMS-ing girl, Natalee _trying_ to get beat up, and me. . . being me! Beaten, bloody, hated,_ we had hit it._

We had hit the bottom. The only way out is up, up, up. Scrabbling at the sides, clawing to light, we all fall back in. Can we get out? It's a matter of time before we destroy perfection and everything starts from the magical number of oblivion.

_Zero._

Silent, sharp, frightening zero. Cold.

And if you can't make it out of the hole, well, there's always seven feet under.

Tyler knew the way out, but he likes it down there. Why wouldn't he? He's the ringmaster, the circus leader. He says jump, we say how high? He says kill, we ask who? He says follow, we obey. We, members of Fight Club, are the animals in the circus, leaping through hoops, fearing the whip, becoming angrier and angrier with our shitty lives. But we listen. Fear is holds up better than anger.

In the battle, in the moment when animals meets, in the ring of men, we can either forgive and let up or continue our onslaught. We see the look in the other's eyes and we know. We are weak. We are human. But our cause, Fight Club, our stories will be strong. They are immortal, they are dead but alive in the ears and mouths of the innocents.

I looked in the mirror and saw my face; black eye, split forehead, cut head. What had I become? I was a monster, I was a monster. For a second, Tyler's face flashed over mine and our similarities stood out like red dots of blood on white tile. He and I are twisted in the same way.

What the fuck was wrong with us?

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**Another short blurb but I've been busy. I like the fact that The Narrator always talks about Fight Club, which, yes, is what he does in the movie. So this is kinda modeled after the movie blurbs.**

**Love,**

**Fel**


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